Those Cerulean Eyes - 1. Chapter 1

WEDNESDAY MORNING, DAY 1

I turn my head towards the door as it opens and see an attractive, slender young man enter, a canvas messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He’s cute, I notice as he approaches the service counter, looks up at the menu above the barista’s head and stands there, trying to decide. It takes him a moment before he smiles and says, “I’ll have a Mocha Java, very light on the cream, please. And I’ll have a cinnamon scone, warmed, please.”

And he’s polite. A student maybe? His age and the messenger bag would suggest it. But then it’s summer. Maybe summer school? I quietly study all of what I guess to be six feet of him from his raven-colored hair down to his sandal-shod feet, very much liking what I see. And he’s polite, which makes him even more attractive to me. And I like the way he moves; glides more than walks.

When the barista places his order on the counter, the young man’s fishes into the end pocket of his bag for his wallet, opens it and hands the barista a ten dollar bill. “Thank you,” he politely says when the barista hands him his change. Then he picks up his Mocha Java and scone and turns to look for a table. He catches my smile and returns it, giving me a polite, “Hello,” as he shrugs off his messenger bag and sits down at the table next to mine.

I’m elated by his choice of tables because I really, really like this guy!

I watch as he carefully breaks apart his scone, then meticulously brushes away the crumbs that have fallen onto his lap. After carefully placing a napkin on his lap, he lifts his mug and lightly blows upon the surface of his Mocha Java before cautiously sipping. Observing that he’s too well-practiced at this, I see it as a ritual, something that he probably does every morning, or at least most mornings, as the start of his day.

My elbows anchored to the table, mug in both hands as I poise to take a sip of my coffee, I can’t help but ask, “Do you come here often?”

“Are you talking to me?” he asks, turning his eyes to mine in quiet surprise.

“I am,” I smile, lost in the gaze of his striking cerulean eyes. My God… Is there anything not to like about this enigmatic boy?

“It’s kind of a ritual for me,” he bashfully admits, two rows of perfect white teeth showing through his infectious smile.

“Are you a student?” I ask, nodding to the messenger bag now slung over the corner of the back of his chair.

“You’re observant,” he smiles, casting a glance to his bag, then back up to my eyes. “I have one class in the summer, which I head to from here, and a full load the rest of the year.”

“And I’ll bet you make straight A’s too.”

“I do,” he replies, appearing comfortable with our conversation. “May I?” he politely asks, motioning to the vacant chair across from me at my table.

“Of course,” I reply, reaching over my table to push the chair out for him.

He slings the messenger bag over the corner of the back of the chair, then moves his drink and scone to my table, seats himself across from me and meticulously places his napkin over his lap again. “I’m Mickey,” he smiles, offering me his hand which I eagerly grasp.

“Mark,” I reply with a gracious smile as I shake his hand, noting that it’s almost femininely delicate, with graceful, long fingers and perfect nails. I briefly imagine them wrapped around my cock, gently stroking me to orgasm. No, no. Not good. Not good at all, I think, feeling myself beginning to harden at the thought of it.

“So, Mickey, what are you studying? I’m guessing that you’re in your fourth year?”

“I’m twenty and actually in my second year,” he readily offers after taking a bite of his scone and following it with a sip of his Mocha Java. “I worked for a year after high school to save money. I wasn’t ready for college yet. I’m planning to major in interior design.”

“Ah, you have a flair for that sort of thing then.” I wouldn’t describe Mickey as effeminate; effeminate guys have never interested me. There’s a delicateness about him that arouses my curiosity, though, suggesting that he might be gay.

“I think so,” he replies. “I’ve gotten A’s on all the designs that I’ve submit so far, and I do well on my exams.”

“And this summer?”

“I have a class in industrial design, where I design for business environments. I favor salons and that sort of thing.”

Of course you do, women-oriented businesses, I think to myself. More of an impetus for wanting to befriend this engaging lad. On a scale of 1 to 10 of the possibility that he’s gay, I rank him a solid 7. But I don’t sense that he’s effeminate.

I glance at my watch. “And what time is your class?”

“11:00 o’clock,” he replies, looking at his watch too. “Oh, I need to hurry.”

What I assume to be uncharacteristic of him, he quickly devours the remainder of his scone and follows it with a large gulp of his Mocha Java. Then he gets up, slings his messenger bag onto his shoulder and says, “It’s been nice talking to you, Mark. Hopefully we’ll see each other again here at Starbucks. I’m here every morning that I have class, and sometimes when I don’t. I’m addicted to coffee and I love their scones.”

“Are you walking?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Would you mind if I accompany you?” He looks confused.

“To the campus,” I clarify with a disarming smile. “Not to your class.”

His face beams with a smile. “Sure. I’d love the company.”

I allow Mickey to walk ahead of me, allowing me the opportunity to look at his butt in motion as he walks. Because his walk is more of a glide, his butt more or less floats with a cute little wiggle, which makes him even more sexy to me. The barista subtly clears his throat as we pass and I look to see him give me a subtle wink and mouth the word, “Cute,” to which I roll my eyes and smirk.

Out on the promenade, we turn in the direction of the campus and I walk abreast of Mickey, happy that we have a six-block walk ahead of us because it gives me plenty of time to get to know more about him. “So, how many days a week do you have this class, Mickey?”

“Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, with a three-hour lab on Wednesdays.”

“Otherwise, the length of a class is…”

“An hour,” he replies. “Why?”

“Oh, I just thought that maybe we could get together whenever you have some free time.” I look sidelong at him for any reaction indicating that he thinks I’m stalking him. I see none.

“Hey, that would be cool, Mark. I work at Barnes & Noble Books from 3:00 pm to closing on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Otherwise, I’m free. When I’m not studying or working on designs, that is.”

I look sidelong at him again and smile. “Well, I certainly don’t want your grades to suffer because of me.”

“So, you know a little about me, but I know nothing about you. Care to share, Mark?”

“Well, I’m twenty-two and have my first year of law school behind me. Like you, I’m taking one class during the summer—Constitutional Law—and I work as a barista at none other than the Starbucks where we just met. And by sheer coincidence, I work the same days as you: Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays evenings, as well as every other Saturday afternoon.”

“So, you know the guy who served me today?”

“Yeah. His name is Jimmy. Why?”

“No reason except that he seems nice, at least every time that he serves me.” Hm… I’m going to have a word with Jimmy about that. This enchanting boy is mine!

“Yeah, Jimmy’s a nice guy to everyone, both patrons and fellow employees. He’s gotten the Starbucks Valued Employee Award a few times.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“So, do you have, like, a portfolio of your designs, Mickey?”

“I’m putting one together; I don’t have many examples of my work yet, though.”

“I’d like to see what you’ve got sometime.”

He looks at me, surprised, then beams. “Sure. I’m surprised that you’re interested, Mark, having just met me and all.”

“What can I say? You’re an easy guy to like, Mickey.”

Before I realize it, we’re coming up on the Arts building. Too little time and so much more that I want to know about Mickey. “Look, Mickey. Today’s Wednesday and I know that you have a lab after class, but maybe we can get together tomorrow before we have to work.”

“Sure, Mark. How about we meet at Starbucks tomorrow morning, same time, and we can decide what to do after that.”

“Sounds good,” I smile as I shake his hand. “I really enjoyed our time together, Mickey.”

“Me, too, Mark. See you.”

After that, we part ways and I walk to the law library to do some research before my class.

THURSDAY MORNING, DAY 2

I walk into Starbucks about ten minutes later than we had planned to meet, hoping that Mickey will be sitting there, waiting for me. It seems important to me because it tells that he really wants to spend time with me. I look around and then explode with joy inside when I see him sitting at “our table”, a neatly broken scone on the plate before him beside a mug of what I presume to be Mocha Java. For some reason, I expect Mickey to be a creature of habit who rarely breaks from tradition. I return his smile and then approach the counter to order.

“Hey, Jimmy.”

Jimmy smiles. “The usual, Mark?”

“Actually, I’ll have what he’s having,” I reply, nodding towards Mickey.

He knowingly smiles. “Then that would be an Expresso Macchiato and a cinnamon scone. Hm… Expresso Macchiato? Obviously, I was wrong about Mickey. More complicated than I anticipated and not such a creature of habit, afterall. I find it comfortably refreshing.

I return Jimmy’s smile. “Sounds good to me.”

“So, what’s going on with you guys?” he asks as he transfers a cinnamon scone from the display to a plate, then into the microwave for warming. “It seems like more than a coincidence with you two, especially when you order the same thing as him,” he says as he prepares the Expresso Macchiato. “Gotta admit, he’s cute.”

“Yeah, he is, Jimmy. And a really nice guy to boot. I think that I might just stand a chance with him, if he’s… you know.” I don’t have to say it because Jimmy knows what I mean. “I sure hope so, anyway.” It’s enough to let him know that Mickey is off limits.

“I hope so too, Mark,” he smiles as he sets the freshly-made Expresso Macchiato beside the cinnamon scone on the bar in front of me. “It’s on the house today, buddy,” he says. “Good luck.”

Yep, Jimmy Crowley is definitely an all-around nice guy.

“Hey,” I greet as I set my Expresso Macchiato and cinnamon scone on the table and sit down opposite Mickey.”

“Hi.” He smiles brightly when he notices that I ordered the same thing that he did.

I shrug. “Hey, what can I say? What you ordered looked good, so I thought I’d try it too,” I say, returning his smile and hoping that the gesture will make points with him. “No Mocha Java today?”

He grins. “Had that yesterday. I was in the mood for something else today.” I just smile.

“So any ideas about what to do today?” I ask as we enjoy our light morning repast.

“Maybe cruise the promenade shops?” he suggests. “Then maybe to the park?”

“Sounds good to me,” I smile, then politely feed a bite of scone into my mouth and follow it with a sip of Macchiato.”

Nearly thirty minutes pass, our Macchiatos and scones now finished, when Mickey says, “So, are you ready?”

“After you,” I smile as I push away from the table and rise to my feet.

Mickey stands, then grabs his ever-present messenger bag and leads the way, with me following behind him, admiring his butt so nicely accentuated by the seat of his jeans as he “glides” toward the door. I glance at Jimmy, who smiles and mouths the words, “Good luck.”

“So, is Mickey your given name?” I ask as we idly stroll the shops along the promenade.

“No, it’s Michael,” he replies. “Michael James Hodges, in case you’re interested.”

Oh, I’m definitely interested, Mickey, I think to myself as I smile sidelong at him. “Michael James Hodges…” It glides easily off the tongue and sounds nice when I say it. “It fits you perfectly, Mickey. Michael James Hodges…”

“And what comes after Mark?” he asks when I’m not forthright with it.

“Oh, sorry,” I apologize. “Mark David Reintjes.”

“Mark David Reintjes…” he slowly repeats. “I’m usually good with nationalities, but I don’t have a clue about Reintjes.”

“It’s Slovakian,” I reply. “My grandparents came to America at the end of World War 2.”

“So, do you speak the language?” he asks, looking at me.

“A little.”

“Say something in Slovakian for me,” he smiles.

“Odkialʼ si?”

“What did you say?”

“‘Where do you live?’ Or more specifically, ‘Where are you from?’” I interpret.

“I’m from here,” he replies. “I’ve lived here all my life. Or are you asking where I actually reside?”

“That would be nice to know too,” I reply, gazing into captivating cerulean eyes that gaze back at me.

“Metropolitan Condominiums on NW Lovejoy Street,” he freely offers. “It’s next to Tanner Springs Park. I live there with my mom.”

“Hodges, Metropolitan Condominiums on NW Lovejoy Street. That should be easy to find.”

“Suite 101, to be exact,” he further offers, making me wonder if he’s being explicit for a reason. Like, maybe if I know where he lives, I’ll stop by for a visit.

“Got it,” I grin, committing it to memory. “Chodievaš sem často?”

“What’s that?”

“Do you come here often?” I interpret. “The promenade, I mean?”

“More often than not,” he smiles, almost coyly. “Do you?”

I return his smile and brave, “It’ll be more often now that I know that I’ll probably find you here.”

He lightly blushes, meeting my gaze again. “That’s a nice thing to say, Mark. But now that you know where I live, that doesn’t matter so much.”

“That’s true,” I chirp with a heart-felt smile. “So, how about I buy a Frisbee and then we head over to the park? It’ll be good exercise, as well as a fun way to spend an afternoon together.”

He beams with delight. “That’s a great idea, Mark!”

I think that I’ve just fallen in love.

FRIDAY MORNING, DAY 3

Mickey and I meet at Starbucks for our usual coffee and scone, then head to campus afterward where he heads to his 11:00 o’clock design class and I head to the law library to prepare for my 12:00 o’clock Constitutional Law class. At 2:00 pm I find Mickey waiting for me as I walk out of the classroom, which tells me that he’d made an effort to locate it.

“Hey, Mickey!” I beam. “This is a pleasant surprise!”

“Yeah, I went to Admin and got the location of your class. I’m glad I surprised you.”

“You did indeed, Mickey. I don’t know what to say except thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiles. “So, I was thinking during class that if you want, you could come to my place for dinner tonight, meet my mom and see what I have for a portfolio so far. I have to clear it with her, of course, but would you be interested?”

I’m speechless at first, then reply with, “Sure. If it’s okay with your mom, I’d love to, Mickey.” Hm… taking me home to meet mom? Sounds promising…

“Okay. Hold on a sec and I’ll call her right now.”

He moves several feet down the hallway, pulls out his cellphone and puts it to his ear. He is far enough away from me that I can’t hear his conversation. A few minutes later he ends the call and walks back to me and smiles. “It’s a date, Mark. Do you like Chicken Cacciatore?”

I smile, thinking about him calling it a date. I can only hope. “I’ve never had it, Mickey, but I’m willing to try anything.”

“Well, I can tell you this: my mom makes an excellent cacchiatore.”

“Then I’m sure that I’ll love it,” I reply as I reach into my backpack and pull out the Frisbee. “In the meantime, wanna go to the park for some fun and exercise?”

“Sure,” he smiles.

God, I love this guy more and more each day!